Dear Diary
by Shinidorei
Summary: Wufei and Heero, are stuck in a safe house together, while the other pilots are out on a mission. What will happen when they find Duo's diary? 1x5 later 1x2 5x? 3X4 Please RxR
1. Chapter 1

Heero stepped out of the house and onto the porch of the safe house they were staying in, to watch the sunrise. It was always dark at around 5 o'clock in this area, it bothered Heero a little, no matter how hard he tried to adjust; the natural light just didn't feel right to him. He found himself almost missing the claustrophobic, and florescent-lit white halls of L1. The colony was all he had known since he was born and it bothered him to not feel the comforting confinement of the slightly curved walls. He lifted a slightly bent cigarette to his mouth and held it gently between his lips, trying not to wet the paper butt with saliva.

"Ah damn it!" he tried not to shout as he fumbled with his lighter in the waning dark. He had carried it in his pocket on his last mission, when his harness gave to his right shoulder the head got slightly bent, just enough to prevent the cylinder from turning. His hands trembled with anger as gave up and threw the offending object as far into the waxing light as he could, and grunted discontentedly taking his cigarette out of his mouth.

"He's really getting under your skin isn't he?" A very self satisfied voice mocked him from behind, "look, he's even gotten you into his filthy habits." there was a long silence that passed, Heero refused to acknowledge the offending voice and continued to grind his teeth thinking of the cigarette he was missing because of that stupid lighter, and involuntarily shuddered at the thought of facing Wufei without at least some chemical protection. Finally he grunted at the figure behind him and in a noncommittal acknowledgment of Wufei's presence. Wufei took that as an invitation to move out on the porch next to Heero.

He handed Heero a rough brown mug filled almost to the brim with steaming black liquid. Heero snatched it from him; spilling several splashes over the back of his hand, and placed the cup on the railing he was leaning over between his arms, letting the spilled coffee that still hung to the mug's side drip off into the lawn on the other side of the railing.

"Well if you insist on putting that into your lungs I'll oblige..." Wufei then took a small matchbook out of his pocket careful to show Heero the label on the matchbook before opening the small box and gingerly plucking one of the paper objects out. Heero normally would have rejected Wufei's offer but he felt the nicotine hunger clawing at his chest, so he lifted the small object to his mouth and turned it to the youth next to him. If Wufei still resented Heero, he didn't show it as he struck a flame atop of one of the matches that Heero remembered too well.

The morning was still, but Wufei cupped the small flame as if he was protecting it from a gale, as he put the flame to the end of Heero's cigarette. Heero puffed at the flame trying to light the tightly packed tobacco, and enjoying the first few whiffs of creamy smoke. The end finally began to glow, signaling to them, that the uncomfortable confrontation was finally drawing to it's conclusion, and Heero turned away from Wufei and back to the pinkish light of the sun creeping up over the horizon.

They let several moments pass before either of them said anything; with each passing moment the tension became more electric, like static flowing in the air between them. Wufei sighed lightly at the color splashing over the horizon as then sun finally emerged changing the pale blue of the morning to a deeper daylight color.

The cigarette was gone before Heero really had a chance to relish its silky taste. Against his will, he kind of resented how quickly the thing had burned away. He became even surlier at the thought of asking Wufei for another light; he picked up his coffee and toyed with the thought of asking Wufei to spot him just one more light. He knew it would not go over well especially because the matches he had been using to light Heero's cigarette had been the ones he taken from the restaurant the night Heero had proposed to him. Heero lifted the mug to his lips and sipped the coffee tentatively, steeling himself for the assault that he could feel was coming.

Heero reached into his back pocket and pulled out a beat up pack of 'Lucky Strikes' and slid another cigarette out. Heero shifted his weight and turned his head just enough to watch Wufei out of the corner of his eye to try and gauge the state of his ex lover before asking for another one of his precious matches. He took another sip of his rather strong coffee, Wufei hadn't forgotten, black, no sugar or cream. He looked down at the dark liquid and realized he had already taken down half of the cup. Wufei stirred uncomfortably in the dewy cold of the morning, bringing Heero back from his self-deprecating brooding.

"Can I bum another light?" Heero's voice was a little tight and he almost didn't recognize it's sound. Wufei stiffened a little at the request, but soon obliged, he moved slightly closer to Heero and lit another match offering the small flame like a sacrificial lamb. Heero again leaned into Heero again leaned into Wufei's cupped hands, lighting the packed paper tube, straightening back up to lean on the railing, and away from Wufei.

"Beautiful sunrise." Wufei's voice surprised Heero; it surprised him, at how tired he sounded. His voice reminded Heero of his own restless night. His sleep had been fractured at best, memories of a scorched teddy bear half buried in ashes drifted through Heero's mind, causing an involuntary shudder.

"It's a little cold out, maybe you should have put a sweater on, Yuy," obviously misinterpreting Heero's reaction. Wufei turned a critical eye to Heero's green tank top and long, tightly fitting blue jeans. Heero, however, refused to look up from his coffee to acknowledge his companion. Heero took a long drag on his half spent cigarette and looked into his discolored reflection, I'm a coward, ran through his mind; he tried to take his mind off the dark thought by swirling the mug and distorting his reflection. A few more moments of silence passed between the two, and the light around them slowly deepened and soon the sun was poking over the horizon.

"When do you think they'll be back?" the sentence shocked Heero out of his brooding, and caused Heero to look over at Wufei for the first time since he came out to join him. Heero just stayed silent, evaluating. Wufei trying not to let his face betray the conflicting emotions that were running through his head. Wufei shifted uncomfortably, the protracted silence obviously bothered him.

"Well, Chang," Heero replied, "the note said 15 days." Heero chanced another glance at Wufei catch in the Chinese youth's eye. Heero turned back to his cup and swallowed the half-cup of black liquid in one gulp.

"I know what the note said, Yuy!" Wufei snapped at Heero and turned from the now fully viable sun, to his companion, "I wanted your opinion, they are going into Barge, for Christ's sake!"

Heero looked back to his empty cup, "I don't care when they get back, alright Wufei," Heero snapped without looking up. Wufei fell silent after Heero's exclamation and stepped away from the railing, seeking out one of the white washed wicker chairs, that Quatre had brought home weeks ago. He fell heavily into it; he refused to speak to Heero, and allowed the creak issuing from the chair to settle around them with out a word.

Heero was screaming inside to ask the question that was eating at the inside of his chest, but he feared Wufei's reaction, so he bit it back, and whispered, "Why do you care, when they come back, Wufei?" He instantly regretted it, knowing how the Chinese youth would react. He could feel the heat of Wufei's glare. Heero opted to ignore Wufei's reaction and turned his attention back to the question that was burning him up and clawing it's way to his tongue, it took most of his self control to hold it back.

Wufei finally caved and replied, "I really don't give a damn Yuy; I thought you would. So I asked out of consideration for you." Again, Wufei startled Heero with, where the conversation turned.

"Why should I give a damn about them!"? Heero retorted a little too hotly.

"I thought you and that long haired idiot had something..." Wufei started to trail off his voice weighed with emotion. Heero tried to calm himself before responding.

"What makes you think I could stand to even talk that fool?" his voice sounded a little harsh even to himself.

Wufei waited a few moments formulating a his answer, "Then why did you start smoking?" Heero's mind reeled from the blow that Wufei had thrown and tried to think of a response, but found nothing. So he let the conversation drop, and without an answer to his last question Wufei seemed happy to let it go. The silence dragged on uncomfortably long before anything happened. Heero looked to face Wufei, and leaned forward off of the railing. He stepped toward the door, purposefully, but his question stopped him as he reached out for the handle and he let his hand rest on it. He looked down at Wufei trying to figure out how to ask the hot-tempered Chinese youth, why he had kept that souvenir.

The Chinese youth looked up at Heero expectantly, "Well are you going to answer or retreat into the house, like a coward." Heero gave Wufei a scathing look and turned the knob. He jerked open the door angrily, and slammed it behind him, and stomped through the mudroom into the kitchen. The aroma of coffee filled the small area and drew him toward the counter to see if there was any left.

"Love is just a distraction," he whispered to himself as he took hold of the half empty pot of black liquid.

***

Wufei cringed a little at the sound of the front door slamming and Heero's stomping. He hadn't anticipated Heero's anger to be quite so hot, and he figured that he should probably stay out of the house for a bit, and got up to walk through the small woods that encircled the house, Quatre had gone out of his way to make sure that they had absolute privacy, and the small cottage in the Santa Cruz mountains was perfect.

He stepped off of the porch and onto the small cobblestone trail that lead to the mobile suit hanger that they had made out of a large barn, and stepped away from the house into the clearing that surrounded them. He meandered off of the path and into the muddy grass, heading toward his favorite spot; He loved to go there when he needed time alone.

"Wow it's chilly this morning," Wufei griped to himself as he stepped out of the clearing and into the redwoods. The morning mist hung low to the ground, and swirled out of his way as he stepped through it. Wufei loved the morning around here, they were like something out of a fairy tale sometimes he would find himself looking for an dragon or something equally nonsensical, but some how when ever he was in these woods he found himself half expecting to see one. He laughed at his own foolishness, it echoed through the trees, and replied back sounding as hollow as he felt.

He stopped for a moment, and instantly regretted it, the anger and self pity flooded back over him, melting his face into a deep frown He looked up at the sky, wondering when his colleagues would come back and end the awkward solitude that he shared only with Heero. It was getting unbearable. The last few days they had tried to avoid each other, but this morning, he couldn't take the loneliness.

"I guess picking a fight wasn't my best idea..." he mused to himself, "Now I'm starting to sound like Duo!" He almost shouted, appalled with him. The light started to strengthen as he moved toward the stream down near the edge of their property. As he moved toward it the light began to strengthen, and the sunlight was beginning to show in small patches through the leaves; casting a dreamy light into the fog that hung close to the ground. He climbed through a thicket, he felt his sleeve catch on something, but didn't care, he knew he was close to where he wanted to be. He pushed through, a little too eager to see the small tree house suspended above a small stream.

Two almost identical redwoods that stood across the water from each other held the small structure above the wet earth that he was standing on. He reached out for the old rope that hung from the floor of the doorway, to the small house. He thought back to the first time he had climbed up the rope, he had been surprised that it could hold his weight he had been expecting it to give way and throw him into the stream bellow, He had to suppress a laugh at the mental image of himself falling into the stream and cursing his own stupidity as he sat chest deep in the numbing water.

He found himself a little too glad when he reached the floor of the small house. He looked around the inside, and wasn't surprised to find that no one had been there since he left. He sat down in the doorway hanging his feet over the edge; he put his hands behind his head, and lay back onto the dusty floor not caring how dirty his gray turtle neck got. He stared at the well-constructed roof and wondered, not for the first time how old the structure was, and who built it. Wufei knew that the light around the tree house was growing but the ceiling betrayed nothing about the sky, and Wufei didn't care. All he cared about was the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees that surrounded him, and the burbling of the small stream beneath him. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be pulled back into his memories of looking into Heero's midnight blue eyes in the throws of pleasure.

Wufei snapped awake, and was sitting upright before he knew where he was. The rich light surrounding him told him that he had been here for hours, and it was well into the late afternoon. He felt a pain come from his right arm and he turned to investigate, and found a tear in the sleeve of his turtle neck, and a scabbed tear in his skin. The gray of his cotton sweater was stained black from the blood that had been seeping into it for a while. He took off the article pulling it off of his arm where it was sticking to the dried blood. He felt the cool air wash over his skin and realized, that the heat of the afternoon sun baking on the roof of the structure had awakened him.

He groaned, and crumpled his ruined sweater into a makeshift pillow and lay back onto it, and tried to summon up the dream he had been indulging in. He sighed closed his eyes to the light that filtered into small house through the small, filthy window. Images of a tanned youth that he thought he recognized, but he didn't care the olive tinted skin was just too appealing, he wished he could reach out and touch him, before he realized it his manhood was reacting, but it wasn't until it throbbed uncomfortably against his pant leg did he turn his mind to it.

"What was that?" he whispered to himself referring not to the strange images of his fellow pilot, but to his reaction. He was glad that he was alone, he liked to fool himself that he was over the Japanese youth, and would not have enjoyed suffering a loss of face so egregious. He sat up realizing that he was thirsty. He got up and looked over the small area. There was nothing there but a small cabinet and an old rocking chair.

"I thought I left something up here," he whispered to himself as he opened the ancient door to the cabinet, with a loud creak. He looked in on a six-pack of cola and a box of granola bars. His stomach growled loudly and he smiled, feeling his hunger for the first time. He grabbed one of each and walked the short distance to the door, where he sat back down and looked out at the woods, fingering the plastic wrapping around his granola bar.

Before he knew it, he had finished his food, and his thirst consumed him as he reached out for the can of soda. He couldn't help but smile at the sound of the can snapping as he lifted the small tab. The soda tickled his throat pleasantly as he swallowed half of it in one go. Wufei sucked the last of the soda out of the can and dropped it next to the empty wrapper of his meal, and leaned back trying not to think of going home to Heero.

"That self centered prick," he whispered to himself as Heero's face floated through his mind. He felt tears well up in his eyes, and didn't try to fight them; He took out his book of matches that he stole from a restaurant that Heero had taken him to. He had wanted something to remind him of the night Heero proposed.

"Why do I still love him," he whispered, just before his quiet sobs overtook him.

***

Heero started awake. He took in his surroundings. The blue light of the television washed over him in the darkness of the empty den. The strange glow emitted from the TV made the furniture look alive, and shifting. His groggy senses couldn't make out what he was looking for; for quite a while the newscaster was droning on about the latest scandal in show business,

"Wufei?" he whispered pathetically into the empty room, suddenly remembering where he was and why. He sat up from his recliner, he had tucked into the corner. He scanned the large plush furniture, for any sign of his only company since the other three left. Wufei had left hours ago, and he had come down to the den to wait for him. A deep scowl spread across his face as he realized he was still alone.

Something cold was running down his cheek and, Heero reached up to wipe it off. His fingers came back wet, and he was shocked to find he had been crying. He grumbled and stood up, for the first time, he realized how cold the den was, even through his sweater. He shivered violently. Unsure of where to go, he stepped toward the few stairs that led to the living room, to try to find comfort somewhere other than the chilled den. The house was dark and lonely. Heero had decided he had hated this safe house the moment he entered it; but now, as it reflected all to clearly what he felt in his heart, he couldn't help the loathing that started to grow heavily in his chest, he scowled darkly at the thought of be there alone.

"Damn, I'm hungry," He voiced thoughtlessly, before realizing there was no one there to hear it. He almost laughed aloud at how stupid he must have sounded talking to the house that he hated. He walked purposefully through the living room careful to avoid the glass coffee table, which sat between the two opposing suede couches. He had forgotten about the piano though and stubbed his toe painfully on its left leg.

"Fuck me!" He shouted and he could hear the reverberations off of the baby grand's sound board, as if it were mocking him, "Yeah well fuck you too." he replied, without thinking. He limped heavily toward the kitchen at the head of the house, and found himself questioning if Wufei was right. What if Duo is rubbing off on me? He thought a little apprehensively to himself.

The kitchen was always the coldest part of the house, and Heero found himself hating the room this evening. He didn't want to repeat the mistake he had made in the living room, and hobbled over to the light switch, and flicked it up almost angrily. Ha! He thought to himself, fuck you, furniture! He was disturbed by the internal dialog he was having this evening, realizing, that Wufei was more right then Heero really wanted to believe was no less than disconcerting.

"I'll just have to prove him wrong," he whispered to himself conspiratorially, as though he was fearful Wufei would over hear. Heero stepped over to the refrigerator, and tore it open. He growled in annoyance at the half-spent six-pack of cola, and scattered condiments.

"Damn," he grumbled at the nearly empty refrigerator obviously some one, had forgotten to go into town for supplies, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his turn. He tore open the crisper hoping he had missed something. He, threw the meat drawer open, knowing there was nothing, but looking anyway. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and snagged a can of soda. When he finally got all of the drawers back into place, he slammed the door with a certain finality. He allowed his mind to race over the possibility of something being in the pantry, but knew it would yield nothing more than the refrigerator did. He let an angry growl slip, as he thought of the possibilities. Then a thought stuck him and he glanced up at the ancient analogue clock over the stovetop.

He was not thrilled about ordering a pizza and really didn't like the idea of giving out the location of the first stable safe house they had, had in months, but there was no other alternative. He pulled himself to his feet using the 'fridge door as leverage, all the while cursing himself for being lax in his duties. He found the phone some time later in between the cushions of the large dark brown couch, and scowled at the battery life, hoping it had enough to call in his order. He grabbed a phone book out of the cabinet in the mudroom where they kept all of the reference volumes such as this. He stepped into the kitchen and dropped down into the one of chairs there, and pulled up to the table, to look through the yellow pages for the closest pizza place. The Pizzeria he chose was called "Marla's Pizzeria," He chose it specifically, because of the "We Deliver printed in red ink. The number wasn't hard, and Heero had it memorized be fore he dialed it. He said a silent prayer that they stayed open past 9:00.

***

Wufei was exhausted when he finally made it back to the safe house. He had been crying for hours and had had to wash his face in the stream before heading back through the dark wood, lest Heero find out and question why. He really didn't want to deal with his ex-fiancé. He tried the go in through the sliding glass door that opened to the den. The door was less than cooperative, and it took him several seconds to loosen it up enough to crack it open. He silently cursed himself for ignoring the door when the first took up residence here. After several more seconds of wrestling with the door he could squeeze his arm through, he smiled a silent congratulations to himself for this before trying to squeeze his torso through. The door turned from uncompetitive to positively rebellious once he started to squeeze the rest of his body into the den, and it shrieked loudly just as it cleared his torso.

"Damn it." he whispered as he heard rustling from upstairs in the kitchen. He gave in and threw the door open letting it scream loudly, his entrance to the rest of the house. He stepped inside, threw it shut and vowed to have the damn thing lubricated at the first possible opportunity. He had little energy, to do much more then throw himself onto the couch. He felt his body screaming for sleep, but he refused, and rolled over to find the television remote.

The ancient T.V flickered to life throwing the den into a ghostly, blue detail, and Wufei settled into the crease between the back rest, and seat cushions and tried to forget everything but the news program he was watching. Of course Oz had a pretty tight reign over the airwaves, but sometimes the flawed news stations had some very useful information. Not tonight, however, tonight they were covering some mock election, the alliance had long since given up its democratic roots and pursued a militaristic dictatorship. Wufei felt the familiar tug at his eyelids and he knew he was too tired to continue watching. He reached for the remote and turned down the volume and shifted as he drifted down into sleep.

The doorbell rang, causing Wufei to jump off of the couch and onto his feet. He was looking for a weapon frantically before his brain kicked back into gear and realized that a conversation was happening at the front of the house. He cursed his heart to the seven layers of hell and back, for beating so loud in his ear that he could barely hear what was being said. I didn't take long before he heard the word "Pizza," and realized that he must be hearing his dinner.

"Fuck me," he whispered, and fell tiredly back onto the dark brown couch. He closed his eyes, and slumped down into the cushions relieved, that he didn't need to flee in his fatigued state. It wasn't long before Wufei could smell the drifting aroma of the pizza. He bade his murmuring stomach to shut up with out opening his eyes. He wished he had brought more down to the small tree house, than the small stash of granola bars and soda. Again the smell of pizza assaulted his vulnerable senses, and he cursed his own weakness when he found how much he wanted some. He sat up, and blinked the confused sleep out of his vision. When his eyes finally cooperated, and started focusing he saw a plate, that had obviously been made for him.

"Damn it," he sighed heavily.

A voice from behind made Wufei jump, "You ok?" Heero asked almost amiably, as he entered the den from the living room. How he managed to juggle 2 cans of cola and another plate of pizza baffled Wufei. He purposefully avoided Heero gaze and turned around to face the TV again, refusing to acknowledge he comrade. Heero seemed contented to keep the silence as well, because he didn't speak again for several seconds. He dropped a soda into Wufei's lap and retreated back into his recliner. Wufei turned his attention, to what was obviously meant to be his food, and considered not eating it as an act of silent rebellion, but his body wouldn't allow it, and told him so with a loud growl centered in his midriff. He reached out for the plate silently cursing his treacherous stomach. The uncomfortable silence from that morning came back and settled over them, broken only by the quite murmuring of the television in the background. Before he truly realized he had started eating he found he was finished. He sat back a little more full than he was quite comfortable with. He found himself hoping for a reason to leave the den, and more importantly Heero.

"Why did you keep the matches Wufei?" The sound of Heero's voice made him visibly jump. He had to make a very conscientious effort to not turn and face Heero. He feared that turning right then would reveal everything he had worked so hard to hide, and before He could come up with a suitable lie, Heero continued. "I thought we agreed that our..." He faltered for a moment as if not knowing how to continue, "Relationship, was a distraction to our goals." Wufei could feel his face burn, and the all too familiar anger grow in his chest. He stood up and tried to regain his composure before responding, but found it at best difficult.

"You know what? Fuck off, Yuy!" He spat, before he knew what he was doing. Heero just sat in his chair with a look of utter astonishment at the sudden outburst. Wufei realized what had happened, too late, and he felt his embarrassment flush over his face. Damn it, he screamed inside his head, and dared a look at the now flamingly pissed Heero, and bolted up the stairs toward the living room, fleeing to the sanctuary of his room. The house was not large, but it seemed to take forever to reach his room; he was more than a little glad that Heero didn't come out to stop him. He slammed the door and leaned against it as if barricading himself against a siege. He surveyed his room looking for a distraction, but nothing lent it's self to his interest. and he soon gave in to the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, "this is the second time today, I've cried over that bastard."

***

TBC…?

A/n:

I have more and will post, depending on reception. So if you liked it review!

Disclaimer:

Kido Senshi Gundam, (Mobile Suit Gundam) and all of it's affiliated characters/series are copyright of sunrise/sotsu agency, and used without permission for the purposes of entertainment only, and are not intended for profit.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Diary: Chapter two

A/N: Due to the lack of reviews and/or interest I will be discontinuing this story. So this will be the last update. If you want to see more of this story, feel free to send me a pm or a review!

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Wufei's book of matches floated through Heero's mind all night, and he found himself a little less than rested as he rolled over to face the alarm clock that had awoken him. Duo had always had on odd fascination with pre-colonial history, most notably the mechanics of old automobiles and electronics. The old clock had been a product of Duo's love for the obscure.

Heero had been returning from a successful mission in the colonies, and while waiting for his HLV carrier was, caught in an sudden downpour. Necessity drew him to a tiny antique shop. The inside was dusty and claustrophobic, he would have left immediately had it not been for the unscheduled sour weather. He roamed around dusty furniture, to the back, and found himself mindlessly shifting through the toy section. The discolored plastic, action figures and filthy teddy bears, were somewhat melancholy, he remembered them most clearly, moved over to the counter and ask the squat, pudgy, old man that was there what time it was. He gestured up at the row of clocks suspended on wires from the ceiling with out looking up from his woefully out of date issue of "People." There it was, a small white desk clock, silently counting away the seconds, Heero still didn't know what possessed him to buy it for Duo, but he did.

When he arrived back at the safe house he had unceremoniously shoved the object into Duo's hands, not even wrapping the present, Duo didn't seem to care. The American immediately dismissed Heero's lack of manners and gruff treatment with a flippant comment and some overly theatrical motion, But Heero had seen the way his eyes shone when he first saw the small object. That had been a guilty pleasure of Heero's; how much he secretly treasured the look of shear joy that Heero had caught before Duo had readjusted his jester's mask.

Heero sat up and hacked painfully for several seconds feeling the phlegm build up, from the previous day's smoking, adjust uncomfortably in his chest. He looked up at the waxing light that came from the pale sunrise outside of his window, and back at the red blinking numbers of Duo's alarm clock.

"I overslept," he told himself trying to forget how quiet the room was with out the American, by chastising himself, and tore back the covers. The air outside of his blanket chilled his skin raising small goose bumps up his arms and legs. The chill caused Heero's bladder to scream for release, he jumped out of bed in a sudden emergency. He wrenched the door open to the master bathroom attached, to the room he and Duo shared. Heero stepped onto the cool tile of the bathroom floor, which only intensified his emergency. He turned to the toilet, and flopped down onto it, not trusting his legs to support him through the process this early. Heero sighed at the release he felt, and smiled contently to himself. He soon found he had finished, and pulled some toilet paper to dry himself off.

Heero stood up and turned his attention to pulling his boxers back up over his hips, then stepped over to the sink. He scanned over the discarded, decidedly feminine hair care products, which littered the bathtub and counter. And wondered to himself about the American's grooming habits, Duo usually locked the door whenever he dealt with his hair. Heero shook his head, to try to shake images of the other pilot naked, brushing his long chestnut locks. He turned his attention to the mirror that hung in front of him. He scowled at the reflection, the battered, black t-shirt, and plaid striped boxers covering his pale skin. His sleeping attire reeked of Duo's warped fashion.

The memory of where the damned things came from streaked through his mind. Heero and Wufei had had another rather heinous fight, and Heero had to retreat to Duo's room for the night, to escape Wufei's fiery anger. Heero was lying on the floor with out a blanket or pillow, trying to find some sleep. Duo had leaned over the side of his bed and laughed at him, telling him he ought to go back and get some bedding. When Heero refused, Duo laughed and told him he looked like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Heero recoiled at the idea, and nearly snapped rather unkindly, something about Wufei's tantrum, that they were still hearing the death throes of. They stopped and listened to Wufei scream for a few very long and uncomfortable moments. Heero heard rustling behind him, causing his attention to snap back to the Deathscythe pilot. He was sifting through his draws. He soon found what he was looking for and looked turned Heero beaming like an idiot.

"Here" he unceremoniously tossed a messy clump of dark cloth at Heero. The Japanese youth unfolded the tangled clothing, and stared down at the battered shirt, and cocked his eyebrow at the quirky message it bore: "Girls Are Such Whiners." Heero looked back up at the American, his confusion obviously evident in his face.

"You need some sleeping clothes," Then he grabbed a knitted green blanket off of the end of his bed and dropped it next to Heero, "take this too." Heero just grunted in response and refused to take the small gesture from the braided youth. Later that night Heero had found himself sitting up in Duo's arms, for a long time He didn't realize why He was being held or why he didn't pull away. He remembered something tickling his check, and he had lifted his hand to brush it way, He was surprised to find he had been crying. He still regretted what he said next.

"What do you think you're doing, Maxwell?" He growled, hoping to sound menacing. Apparently he failed, not that it ever mattered to the American, because he just kept on holding him. The unkind words followed him, inserting themselves into his worst dreams some how making them worst then he thought possible. He was glad the American ignored him, fearing that he couldn't support himself. They let the silence settle over them, and for several seconds it was undisturbed, then a husky voice whispered something into his ear. The words stuck in his mind even now as he stood half naked studying the white print of Duo's tee shirt.

"I'm giving you five minutes, five minutes that won't exist outside of us." Duo's words washed over him soothing his taught muscles, breathing cool relaxation into his tense frame. Heero reached up and wrapped his arms around Duo's slender waist and held him tighter than he expected, and cried onto Duo's shoulder. Some time later Heero heard Duo crawling back into bed, obviously trying to be as quiet as he could. The Rustling of his covers; however, gave him away, Heero realized he had been asleep, and wondered if the strange encounter with the usually emotionally elusive American, hadn't been just his twisted imagination playing with his warped mind. Heero tried not to breathe fearing that would be enough to wake the American, and soon the sounds of Duo's Deep, heavy breathing was his reward. He let his breath go as quietly as he could, he was rather thankful for the solitude the night brought him, to ponder the unspoken promise, to never speak of what had happened that night.

Heero smiled unconsciously at the bittersweet memory, and stepped over to the sink to wash his hands. He turned the knobs beside the faucet and tested the water gingerly. He hissed unconsciously at the cool water that rushed over his skin. The water soon warmed to his liking, and Heero washed his hands, and looked into the mirror, to inspect his face. He decided it warranted a wash, and rearranged the knobs to his preference. He scowled as he splashed a cupped hand of water over his face; it was somewhat warmer than he usually liked it. When he was finished, he blindly groped for his usual towel, not willing to open his eyes until his face was dry. It wasn't in its usual place, instead he found and alien feeling object. He tried to grope around it, but failed. The object crashed loudly against the tile and sounded as if something gave.

He grunted aloud in irritation at his own clumsiness. He tore his eyes open, not even wincing at the uncomfortable sensation accompanying the hard water infiltrating his eyelids. He scanned the counter for his absent towel. He found it, draped over the Shower curtain dowel. He stepped toward it, muttering a curse in his native language. He stepped into a puddle of syrupy liquid on the floor, and felt his feet loosing traction. He swore loudly, as his legs slipped out from under him. Heero landed painfully on his ass in a pool of sticky red liquid. He turned his attention to the puddle, searching for its source. Heero nearly screamed his irritation to the entire house, when he saw one of Duo's strawberry scented shampoo bottles at the edge of the pool he was sitting in, with a shattered cap leaking the vile liquid onto the ground. He shot to his feet; halfheartedly trying to be careful of the slippery ooze. He tore off his boxers, and Duo's old tee shirt throwing them into the sink, and turning his attention to the shower. He turned the knob labeled with a little blue "C" generously, deliberately not subsidizing with the hot water. Heero was used to cold showers, as a child he was only allowed five minutes of cold water, to wash himself with.

Odin had told him, "You won't always have the luxury of hot water so get used to it." Heero had taken the lesson to heart and tried never to get dependent on warm water, for his showers, so he always tried to use cold water. He stepped into the tiled shower, and snatched the soap, wincing at the cold stream that sent goose flesh down his arms and legs. He rinsed the shampoo off of his backside, and ran the soap over his body, trying to rush the cleansing ritual, that he had felt he didn't need this morning. He found himself wishing he didn't get out of bed. Heero rinsed off the lather, he had rubbed onto his body, and put his scalp under the cold stream without shampoo. He ran his hands through his messy hair, working the cold water down to his roots.

He cranked the cold-water knob, closing the faucet, and stepped out of the chilled shower stall, drenching a small green shower mat with the drippings of chilled water off of his well muscled body. He scanned the bathroom for a clean towel to dry his freezing body with. Heero stepped over to the small white cabinet suspended over the toilet, which usually held their towels, and random, packaged toiletries. He cursed his laundry habits in Japanese when he found nothing, but empty shelves, and turned angrily to the brimming clothes hamper. He stepped a little to quickly across the bathroom to the adjacent door, forgetting about the pool of shampoo that he had been to frustrated to clean up. His feet lost traction again and sent him sliding, but this time he kept his composure and allowed himself to slide, and tried his best to balance while he glided across the bathroom's white tile, abruptly stopping, crashing against the back of the door. Not for the first time this morning, he found himself coveting Duo's catlike reflexes.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts of the other pilot whispering to himself, "He's just another distraction..." But still he couldn't help smiling at the funny feeling that grew in his chest whenever he thought of the braided youth. He reached into the hamper, still smiling stupidly, trying to find a towel that didn't seam too repulsive.

Heero stepped out of the bathroom naked and trying to smooth his mess of hair on top of his head, with one of Duo's boar's hairbrushes. He meandered over to the dresser next to Duo's bed, and wrenched open his underwear drawer, and looked inside hoping to find something, there. He realized that he hadn't done the laundry while Duo was gone. The drawer was nearly empty with he exception of two mismatched socks. He took care not to curse loudly although he was screaming at himself inside his head. All that came out of his mouth was a small grunt, and desperately turned to Duo's underwear drawer and nearly cringed at the idea of opening it. He wasn't very fond of the Idea of Duo finding out he had been wearing his undergarments, but necessity over-rode comfort in this case, and he tore open Duo's drawer. Duo had taken most of his possessions with him on his infiltration mission to Barge, but there were still two older looking boxer shorts, and a beaten black leather bound book.

The book instantly drew his attention, completely forgetting about his necessity for clothes. He scooped the small item out of Duo's drawer and held it tenderly, it was obviously something very precious to the American, or he wouldn't have had to hide it from his colleagues, and Heero stiffened as he was struck by the thought of what a serious breach of trusts he could be committing. He made to place the item reverently back into it's place, but curiosity compelled him to open the small item and peek inside.

The first page, was written in a loopy hand that he had never seen before, and it occurred to him that he had never seen the American's handwriting, the beautiful writing stirred a warm feeling inside his chest, and he read aloud the first line, "Dear Diary." Heero instantly sobered, he could feel his hands shaking, but he didn't care. He snapped it shut and dropped it absentmindedly onto the floor. He hissed under his breath and reached down for the book, finding it laying open. The temptation to delve into the American's unfathomable mind nearly overwhelmed him as he felt the creamy pages. It took all of his self-control to close the small book. He placed it gently onto Duo's pillow. Heero tore his eyes away from Duo's Diary and turned them toward his drawer.

He absently snatched a pair of plaid boxers, and leaned back on Duo's bed as he slid them over his milky thighs. Heero stood up and walked unsurely over to the closet, and slid open it's mirrored door. It was rather void of all of his clothes with only a few of Duo's shirts. He snatched an ashen colored one that reflected Duo a little too much; He closed the door and inspected the black lettering, "Every One Is Entitled To My Opinion." He laughed at himself, for wearing, it considering how standoffish he usually is. He blushed, thinking about what an idiot he felt like wearing this shirt. He looked away, and reached for the bottom of the frock. Something in the mirror caught his eye, and he looked back up to see the reflection of a small songbird fly by his window, his eyes meandered back to his reflection and was surprised at how good the shirt looked on him. He let his arms slack, and he cocked his head to the side, to re-inspect the shirt.

Finally he decided that the article would suffice, he turned to look for the pants he had discarded late the night before. He found his pants in a crumpled pile between their beds; he stepped toward them, and bent down and snatched them purposefully off of the cold ground and sat down on his bed facing the dresser, forcing him to look at the diary. He snatched his eyes away from the tempting item, and turned his head away obstinately; pulling on his limp, cold pants. He tightened his belt roughly and shot up, retreating from the diary, leaving the door ajar. He trotted down to the stairs of the master bedroom toward the living room. He passed through to the kitchen as quickly as he could trying to avoid meeting up with Wufei.

The kitchen was lit only by the cold light of early morning, Heero stepped over to the coffee pot and checked it for signs of fresh coffee. The nearly empty pot gave none, and Heero was not about to start the loud thing and risk waking the obviously, still-asleep Wufei. He opened the cabinet over the coffee maker and found a clean mug. He quietly lifted the top of a small pile of white tea mugs and guided it down to the counter where he poured the remnants of yesterday's coffee into it. He reached down to feel for his cigarettes and found the bent pack still in his front pocket, but a thought struck him: he had no lighter. Heero set his mug down and stepped over to the sink and opened the third drawer on the right, He rustled for a moment through the kitchen stuffs. He soon found what he was looking for, and came up, pocketing with a rather large box of matches.

He stepped toward the door with his mug in hand, stopping only to snatch the keys to the old blue pick-up.

(~*~*~*~)

The sounds of rustling from the kitchen woke Wufei; He rolled over to look at the projection clock's image on the ceiling. He blinked for a moment trying to clear his vision, hoping that he had mistaken the time. He cursed himself silently for oversleeping. He tore back his comforter, He didn't foresee how cold the air was, and he nearly tore his blanket back over his naked from. He wrapped himself up in his quilt and sat up shivering. He stood up and waddled over to the dresser and tore open the top drawer in search of some undergarments. He scanned over his uniform, white undies and took no time in snatching one, and looking down through the other neatly ordered drawers in search of the other articles he needed.

He dropped his quilt and hissed at the cold air, he hurriedly pulled on his chilled undies, pulling them uncomfortably high over his waist; he had to take a few moments to re-adjust them. He lifted a leg and slid a leg down one of his cold pant legs and hissed to himself in discomfort. When he managed to pull the pants up to his waist he fastened them tightly and reached for his shirt, which he had laid on top of the Bureau. He unfolded the article and inspected the pure white surface for stains or imperfections; satisfied that it was perfect he slipped it over his head and gasp lightly at the sensation of cotton scraping against his hardened nipples. He stepped over toward the door to his room, and wrenched it open, half expecting to hear Heero making coffee; however, the silence in the Kitchen disappointed him. Wufei knew Heero too well, to think that Heero's hasty departure had been anything other than him trying to avoid Wufei.

"So he hasn't forgiven me yet..." Wufei muttered to himself a little angry with Heero for being a stubborn ass. He stepped out into the living room and scanned it looking for any sign of the Japanese youth; he wanted Heero to know that he hadn't forgotten about the night before either. By chance he looked up at Heero's bedroom door, and found it hanging ajar. Heero was normally very careful to shut doors behind him, it was very unlike him to leave such a breach of privacy available, it gave Wufei hope that He was still up there. A burning feeling flashed through his stomach and he stepped toward the stairs to Heero and Duo's bedroom, to give Heero a piece of his mind.

When He reached the landing at the top of the stairs the lack of noise from inside was decidedly disheartening, but he proceeded anyway, first knocking rather meekly on the white washed door, and then swinging it open, purposefully louder than normal, to give the Japanese youth proper notification, that he was entering, but still he heard nothing. He decided to step inside, hoping Heero was just in the bathroom. Wufei stepped into the bedroom, and cringed at the discarded clothes on the floor. He carefully picked his way to the bathroom door, and peeked inside to see if Heero was in there. He felt something sinking in his chest as he realized that Heero did in fact bolt, earlier that morning. He turned back around and fell heavily onto Heero's usually neatly made bed. He was a little worried to find Heero's bed unkempt and covered with dirty laundry. Wufei looked over at Duo's equally unkempt bed, and wondered if the unruly American really was rubbing off on his ex-fiancé.

"When did I become so petty, anyway," he mused to himself miserably. He closed his eyes, and allowed them to well up with tears, "I'm starting to hate him," he sobbed to himself. He turned over, and inhaled Heero's scent deeply from his sheets. "God I miss you," he whispered into his bed.

Wufei awoke sometime later, and reached up to rub the sleep out of his eyes; his hands came back wet. He allowed his eyes to lazily focus on his wet knuckles, and was astonished to find he had been crying. He shot up, to look around him suddenly realizing he didn't know where he was. His memories came flooding back to him, and he collapsed miserably onto Heero's bed, and turned his face toward the nightstand, that stood between Heero and Duo's bed. He opened his eyes for no particular reason other than to survey his surroundings, and he noticed something. There was a small leather bound book on Duo's pillow that he had never seen before, He sat up suddenly more curious of the strange object, than miserable over Heero. He leaned forward and cradled the object in his hands until he could sit it on his lap to inspect it.

He flipped it over, inspecting both covers, but the well-upholstered leather revealed nothing about the possible contents of the strange little book. Wufei cracked it to the first page almost reverently, curiosity burning in his eyes. The words were in a hand he couldn't identify, adding to the curiosity of the object, but then when he thought about it, he had never seen Duo's handwriting, it was always assumed that he could write, but the American rarely wrote anything, and if he did Wufei never saw it, it was always a direct transaction between the sweepers or someone else. He turned his mind back to the contents of the book, and away from the handwriting that filled it. He read the first passage out loud, not even thinking about the consequences of reading the thing. He knew it was Duo's journal, but he continued anyway: "Dear Diary, I met another Gundam Pilot today, I was warned about the possibility, but it was still a shock. To tell the truth I hadn't really expected there to be more than me. Well, anyway I reported it back to the Professor, and he told me to avoid him, but I just can't seem to. I can't keep my eyes off of him, I'm following him every where... Do you think I'm in love? Ha, that's a laugh! I don't even know his name yet; I'm such an idiot! But still I just can't get those midnight blue eyes out of my head."

Wufei finished the passage a little confused, and desperate for more information. He found the next few pages were covered in the recounts of battle and how he hated the fighting, he scanned them for anything more that Duo might have written about the boy in his first passage. He stopped dead a few pages later at a passage dated almost two weeks later, he began aloud again: "Howard Caught me looking at the other Gundam Pilot again today, He just laughed it off but I could tell he was uncomfortable with it. He turned to go, but stopped at the door to the cafeteria, and told me 'Forget it, Duo. You can't get involved with him.' I have to admit that I agree, with him, but still I can't help this weird feeling, I get when I look at him."

Wufei finished, and looked up at Duo's bed trying hard to imagine the American laying there writing the passages, even though he knew that they must have been written long before he even met the others, except maybe this mystery pilot that seemed to be the sole occupation of the American. Wufei tried to think of a time he had seen the American, showing any other emotion than, a hollow cheeriness, it was one of the reasons he hated Duo, the jester's mask as he overheard Duo calling it once, made him just want to harm the other boy. It made him feel like the American didn't take anything seriously, and there was no room for that in a war setting. Wufei sometimes was surprised that the American came back unscathed from nearly every mission he was sent out on.

Then again he had yet to be sent out on a mission with the other pilot, He was usually a solo operative, and it wasn't uncommon for him to go alone, with out his Gundam, on an infiltration operation. Actually now that he thought about it, ever since he had met the American, and joined forces with him and the other pilots, no-one had gotten an infiltration mission with the exception of Duo. Wufei found himself wondering if Duo was receiving all of them, and if he had been missing such a detail, that was so abundantly obvious, how he hadn't noticed before, and what else he could be missing. Wufei felt a burning curiosity, start to consume him, He had to know more about the strange character that hid behind the jester's mask.

(~*~*~*~)

Heero lifted the last of the supplies into the bed of the old truck, and lifted the tailgate into place, slamming with a note of finality in the sound of it clicking firmly closed. He stepped around the rear of the truck toward the driver's side door, stopping just short of the door, to acknowledge the nicotine craving that was burning through his lungs. He wrestled the awkwardly large box of matches out of his pocket and fished out his pack of smokes to indulge in a the sensation of smoking them with out Wufei crawling down his throat. Heero placed the tobacco into his mouth and chewed on the fiberglass end as he prepared the flame. He pushed open the box and snatched out a wooden stick, and struck it on the side of the box. He cradled the object as it flared to life, and cupped the flame to protect it from the movement of passing traffic. Heero lowered his mouth to the flame, placing the end of his cigarette into the flame, and inhaling through the item, to pull the flame onto the tobacco. He took the box of matches and pack of cigarettes off of the truck, and shoved them into his pockets. He stepped toward the truck door, and heavily pulled it open, and climbed in. He slammed the door behind him, and rolled down the window, to blow the smoke out, so as not to alert the other guys that he had been smoking in the car again. He was getting sick of Wufei and Trowa nagging him about it, but couldn't help the nicotine cravings, that seemed to grow in his chest every time he drove. Heero inserted the small metallic key into the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered to life, and spat a blue, vile smelling plume out of the exhaust. Heero cursed the truck, to the burning hells and back.

He grumbled under his breath at the engine, Heero disliked the truck under normal circumstances, but when it started burning oil the previous month he found a growing hatred for the damn thing burning in his gut. He mashed the clutch down and threw it into first. He slammed down the accelerator, pulling out into the street. It was already late, and he wanted to get back before diner, lest he give Wufei another reason to start a fight. The small rural town didn't have much traffic, so he didn't think twice about speeding down the twisted roads, He switched straight into third, and reached out to turn on the CD player, he usually didn't care for music, but the rattling of the ancient truck got on his nerves even more. The moment he hit the switch, noise blasted through the cabin, and he knew immediately, who had last driven the truck. There was only one pilot with a taste for heavy metal, and the very thought of the American brought back a familiar, and unpleasant tugging at his guts.

He reached out to turn the music off, but as he reached for it, it faded and he knew that it was changing, it was curiosity more than liking of the music that made him stay. He did however, turn it down a few decibels, but only to the point where he was a little less assured of permanent damage to his hearing. The next song, threw Heero for a loop, the soft piano, seemed a little out of place on one of the American's compilations. He had heard the song many times out of Quatre's old pre-colonial music collection. It reminded him of the strange feeling he always felt around Duo, he instantly hated it for reminding him of his oddity, but he found himself singing along to the soft melody

"And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world"

He glanced down at the speedometer, and found he could barely focus, through the tears that were welling in his eyes. He cursed quietly to himself, and waited 'till the end of the song to reach up and eject the CD. He snatched the item, out of the mouth of the CD player. He tossed it out of his window and smiled darkly to himself. He climbed a hill at fifty miles an hour; at the crest he slammed the clutch down, and tore it out of third, to throw it into fourth. He floored the accelerator, and sped home. Heero pulled into the driveway as quietly as he could, throwing the engine into neutral, as he pulled in close to he house. He grimaced, as he maneuvered close to the door, and pulled the hand brake. The truck ground to a halt, Heero killed the engine, and pulled the key out. He let his arms fall limp, and he sat back in the driver's seat to think about facing Wufei; he didn't relish the idea of fighting with the Chinese youth, and he knew Wufei well enough, to know that bolting before the Chinese youth awoke would spark his anger.

Heero swung the truck door open; he absently rolled out of the high truck, landing heavily on the gravel of their driveway. He felt as if his knees would give, as he landed. Fire coiled in his stomach uncomfortably, as he thought of the next altercation with the Chinese youth, and realized how much worst it would make it that he was wearing Duo clothing. He resolved to put it out of his mind as he slammed the door behind him, and stepped toward the tailgate, to start unloading the groceries. Heero wrestled with the front door through, a heavy paper bag filled to the brim with cans. He finally placed his knee on the door, and rested the bag on it, as he picked at the lock with his key. The door gave to him, and sent the bag's heavy contents, clattering onto the threshold. Heero tried to ignore the burning rage threatening to consume him, as he set the bag on the ground, and reached down to throw the foodstuffs back into the bag.

Heero sighed to himself dismally; this was turning out to be a long day.

(~*~*~*~)

Wufei didn't hear himself as he finished the last words of Duo's journal out loud, "...I can't help but love him..." He unconsciously bit down hard on his bottom lip, unwittingly trying to manifest the pain that was he beginning to feel work it's way around his shock, into the physical; hoping to disperse it before it could take hold of his heart. His eyes blurred and darted up the page, seeking out the date of the entry. He couldn't make out the loopy pen through the tears that was welling up on in his eyes, in defiance of his wishes. A pain spouted from his bottom lip, and the stinging taste of rust ran over his tongue, shocking the youth into letting his bottom lip fold back into place. He quickly collected himself, and wiped the beginnings of tears away with the collar of his shirt, To his surprise he found it marked September 15, just a week and half ago. He still loved Heero... it hadn't been a passing attraction. He stared down at the creamy paper of the small article in his hands, not truly seeing it, but looking past it. The last line of the journal bounced around in his mind looking for an emotion to link its self to.

"How could I have missed..." he let his voice trail off into an unintelligible whimper, as the message he found in Duo's journal found the appropriate heartstring. A pain shot through his chest, radiating out to his fingers, causing them to tingle unpleasantly. He turned his face up to look at the obscured sky, almost wishing, beyond hope to see the stars that lay beyond the drywall of the ceiling, to steal a glance at the elusive author of the journal. His vision swam, distorting the small, frosted light fixture that stood as the sole ornament on the white, spackled ceiling. It wasn't long before the tears that were welling up in the depressions of Wufei's eyes, started to leak out, running the line of his cheekbones, and tickling his temples before collecting in his sideburns. He closed his eyes, and fell over sideways onto Heero's bed.

He tried to surface above the emotions, which were wracking his body, and found only the maddening buzz of his pain-wracked brain not co-operating with him. He tried, desperately to find a grounding influence, hoping to grasp something tangible to pry himself away from the pain. That something toppled heavily off of the bed and crashed loudly on the hard wood planks of Heero's room. Although the sound stopped abruptly, it echoed loudly in Wufei's ears, driving out the insistent buzzing that had resided there far too long for Wufei's comfort. He latched onto the sound. Wufei's face split into a maniacal smile as he snatched the last remnants of the sound in his mind, and pried himself back to the physical, with all the strength he could muster.

When his mind cleared enough to make an intelligible image of his current state, he found himself standing, holding Duo's small black bound book clutched triumphantly in his hands, and it briefly occurred to him that maybe the sound he had heard, had been the product of a weak moment in his delusion prone imagination. But when he examined his memory, he found he didn't care. The sound had been the grounding influence he craved, and so it really didn't matter to him if it was his own imagination, or a reflection of the physical resonating within him at exactly the right time. He let himself fall back backward onto Heero's bed draping him heavily over the unkempt knot of sheets, and his burgundy faced comforter. He fingered the black leather of the small book contemplating what he read, desperately trying not to sink back into the mire of emotion that swelled uncomfortably inside of his leaden chest.

A quote surfaced, finding it's diabolic way, out from the churning dark mass of subconscious thoughts, that he would rather not come to light even only to himself, "...this is just a distraction, Wufei..." the speaker's, husky voice faltered, too steeped in emotion to continue the thought, he was trying to convey, "I'm sorry." That thought silenced all of the other processes fighting for control of Wufei's mind, and for a brief moment, he felt a burning in his lungs, that told him that he had forgotten to breathe, through the mental reenactment of a memory that was too powerful, for Wufei to hope to contain. He gave little thought to senses that were again completely overpowered by the intangible emotions, which surfaced in the devastating wake of memories that he would just as soon forget.

He could feel his senses drowning in the emotion that swelled out of his chest, and the next few minutes barely registered to the Chinese youth, punctuated, only briefly with small glimpses of the room swimming through his vision, or the ring of his untouched eardrums. His tears didn't stay warm for long, and cooled uncomfortably on his face, but he couldn't collect himself enough to care. The images of Heero tending to his wounds after a failed mission drifted through his mind, almost tormenting him, but strangely they stayed mute, even as the Japanese youth turned his piercing, blue gaze at Wufei, and delivered the line that even now was tormenting him. It didn't occur to Wufei that Heero had been over due on his trip to the store by hours now. The sounds of the old pickup that Heero had been driving, fell on def ears, as all Wufei could hear was the stinging words, delivered to him by his overactive imagination.

--- --- ---


End file.
